Play Dates and Park Benches
by Lala Kate
Summary: A meeting of kindred spirits through the hearts of children. Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

_This was inspired by a prompt on tumblr I shall list at the end. Once again, what began as a one-shot has now shot ideas through my brain. In other words, I'm not sure how far this will go, but I would anticipate at least a few additions to this modern MM AU._

_Own nothing. Many thanks to Julian Fellowes, Michelle Dockery and Dan Stevens for creating such wonderful characters for writers like me to entertain._

* * *

He watched her from the corner of his eye, standing apart from the other parents, lost in her own private reverie. Back straight, face placid, this quiet creature who had drawn his attention kept her eyes fixed on her child, avoiding contact with the surrounding adults as she did on a daily basis.

He of all people understood the need to protect oneself in such a manner. Had he not often done the same thing himself?

He had noticed her on several occasions since the beginning of the school year. How could he not? She was physically stunning, the first woman to capture his attention since his life had shattered with the receipt of one phone call. Yet the nerve to introduce himself remained just outside of his grasp, his tongue always too thick or his throat too dry for common speech. So he chose to admire her from afar rather than bridging this invisible gap he had crafted around himself. Of course, the desire to meet a woman had been non-existent for nearly two years now, and he swallowed forcefully, wondering just what to do with the new stirrings of life that were taking him by surprise.

Had she just glanced in his direction? Surely that was his imagination playing tricks on him.

Or was it?

Two small figures nearly collided with him, bobbing ginger curls and ebony plaits making him smile brightly as his daughter tugged on the edge of his jacket.

"And just what are you two monkeys up to?" he queried, kneeling down to their level.

"We're off to the swings, Daddy. Will you push us?"

Blue eyes he could never refuse sparkled up at him, two sets of cheeks pink from the crisp fall air presenting him with bait more alluring than he could ever refuse.

"Alright, my darling," he answered. "Lead the way."

His daughter squealed and giggled, her companion eyeing him quietly, her excitement beaming through the soft smile that had broken across her face. She looked just like her mother.

Her mother—who was watching him now.

The swings sufficed for a few minutes before the allure of the slide pulled the girls away, leaving him standing in solitude. His hands returned to his pockets, his gaze back to the woman his daughter's friend so resembled. She had taken the seat next to where he had been standing beside the bench.

The corner of his mouth drew up in response.

Leaves shuffled beneath his feet as he made his way to her, taking in just how perfectly her black hair skimmed her jawline, framing her chin in a style both simple and flattering. She was so different than Lavinia, a fact he suddenly appreciated.

Dark eyes smiled up at him, her gaze dropping as he took the spot next to her.

"So you're Anna's mother?" he began, watching her expression lighten at the mention of her daughter's name. "I'm Matthew—Matthew Crawley. Belle's father."

"Mary Gillingham," she returned, accepting his extended hand as they became formally acquainted. "Anna speaks of Belle frequently. It would seem they have become the best of friends."

"I think Kindergarten must promote the formation of fast friendships," he grinned, appreciating the small sound she made in response.

"I daresay you're right," she returned, her expression losing a bit of its luster. "Although I do think another commonality has bound them together."

His heart stung smartly.

"How did it happen?"

Her exhale filled the space between them, her eyes fixing themselves on her hands.

"Road-side bomb. Afghanistan. Eighteen months ago."

His eyes closed in empathy.

"And you?"

He met her gaze directly, images of his wife dancing across his mind like stills from a silent movie.

"Car wreck. Drunk driver. Two years ago next month."

A knowing silence was followed by a sincere acknowledgement.

"I'm very sorry."

He sighed.

"So am I."

Gazes shifted to the light-hearted forms of their children, running and laughing as if tragedy's hand had passed over their lives rather than altering them irrevocably.

"Belle was actually excited that she had made a friend whose parent had died," he mused, shaking his head ruefully. "She told me it was nice to have somebody _like her_ in her class."

"It's funny how children see things, isn't it?" she offered, tilting her head slightly in his direction. "Anna basically said the same thing. She frequently tells me that Belle understands her."

A breeze toyed with her dark locks as her hands clutched themselves together tightly.

"It helps to have someone understand, doesn't it?"

Eyes that knew watched her carefully,

"Yes. I suppose it does."

The girls moved from the slide to the teeter-totters, waving to their parents as they scampered past.

"So, are you helping with the Fall Festival?" he inquired, laughing as Belle's side of the see-saw shot up quickly.

"Yes," she replied. "It seems as though Ms. Laura has signed me up to manage the ring toss stand."

His brows drew together.

"That's funny. She has scheduled me to work at the same booth."

He glanced quickly at the teacher, noting how she quickly moved her eyes from them when she noticed he was watching.

"Well," she stated. "What a coincidence."

He chuckled softly.

"A happy coincidence, I hope."

She observed the slight reddening of his ears, doubting their shade was completely due to the autumn weather. It rather endeared him to her, and she felt a slight flutter in her chest.

"I think we shall manage fairly well. Don't you?"

His smile warmed a region left cold for too long.

"Yes. I daresay we shall."

She stood then, beckoning her daughter as the time to leave drew nigh.

"Until tomorrow then," he spoke, feeling something nice when she gave him a genuine smile.

"Tomorrow," she offered softly, her cheeks warming despite the cool air.

He watched the pair of them walk away hand in hand, looking forward to the Fall Festival with fervor he never expected.

* * *

**_Anonymous asked you:_**

**_m/m prompt - AU where Matthew and Mary meet. Mary is a widow or divorcee with a young child. Matthew forms a close bond to the child and wins her over this way._**


	2. Chapter 2

_So what began as a one-shot has again expanded, this time for a good cause. This chapter, along with the two upcoming installments were commissioned as a part of The Downton Charity Drive. (Information at the end of this chapter.) __And I must admit to being a bit overwhelmed by the support this little has drabble received both here and on tumblr and am delighted to expand this universe, my first real outing into a modern realm of Downton._

_Of course, I own nothing. :)_

_Hugs, thanks, coffee, and anything else I can think of I send to **Cls2011** and **miscreant rose** for chats, edits, discussion, support and for being such incredible women. Love you girls!_

_A special dedication to the reader who commissioned this work in an effort to make a difference in our world. And many hugs to all of you who read Ch 1 and reviewed, messaged and asked for more. Here it is. _

___I do hope you enjoy!_

* * *

He checked himself in the mirror yet again, cursing that blasted strand of hair that flopped into his face no matter how much gel he applied. Collar straight, shirt tucked, a nice crease down the front legs of his trousers.

And all of this effort for nothing more than an evening of manning The Ring Toss Booth at the School Fall Festival. He shook his head at the bevy of nerves attacking his stomach.

Of course, this extra attention to detail would have nothing to do with a certain woman would be his companion throughout the evening, a certain gorgeous brunette with whom he had shared a park bench and bits of trivial conversation over the past three days. Just envisioning her made him grin in spite of himself, and he felt like a schoolboy fawning over his first crush. He now knew she loved sushi, hated alarm clocks, and preferred red wine to white. Her favorite actor was Jimmy Stewart, she thought hockey was a waste of time and energy, and swore she would never tire of hearing Ella Fitzgerald sing.

He didn't tell her that he downloaded Ella's greatest hits within hours of that discovery.

"Are you ready, Muffin?" he called out, moving into the living room after applying his new cologne. He still couldn't bring himself to wear Lavinia's favorite, the bottle she had given him their last Christmas together sitting untouched for two years now. He supposed he should use it or throw it out, but a part of him clung to it, his senses needing a reminder of a life cast into memory.

What mementos had Mary kept, he wondered?

He knew she still wore her wedding and engagement rings, had taken note of their elegant simplicity which suited her so well. Of course, his band still rested on his finger, and he stared at it in silence, wondering just when he would have the nerve to take it off.

How odd. He had never really considered that question before this evening.

"You look handsome, Daddy."

The assertion made him smile, breaking into his meandering thoughts as he knelt down to the one who had offered it, twirling a wavy lock around his finger.

"And you look like you're ready for an evening of fun," he replied, smiling back at her freckled grin.

"So do you," she giggled, the glimmer in her eye so reminiscent of her mother. "When is Grandmother coming?"

"At any moment," he returned, looking at the clock and praying that his mother's punctuality would hold fast. He did not want to be late for his shift.

Not tonight, anyway.

"I didn't know grandmothers liked Fall Festivals," Belle mused, her face scrunching in serious thought to such a weighty matter.

"Grandmothers like all sorts of things," he affirmed, tugging at her chin until she grinned again. "They are always full of surprises."

He was quite thankful that his mother was game for an evening of elementary mayhem, even more so as she had volunteered to watch out not only for Belle but also for her granddaughter's best friend, whose mother just so happened to be scheduled to work at the same booth as he,. If Isobel Crawley held any suspicions as to her son's interest in his booth-mate, she had kept them to herself, nodding her head in sympathy at the fact that Mary Gillingham had no family in the area to help keep an eye on Anna while she did her part as a parent.

He was glad of it. At this point, he preferred not to discuss something so new and uncertain with anyone, especially his mother. She had hinted more than once that it would be good for him to rejoin the world of the living, and he was not yet ready to add any kindling to her brush fire of concerned interest.

If she knew that he had met someone…he sighed at the mere notion.

Very few women had ever captured his interest, having met Lavinia his freshman year of college. A fast friendship had been formed, one from which eventually had blossomed a love both tender and safe. There had been few surprises thrown at them as life progressed, marriage, careers, houses and eventually a baby all occurring as planned. Matthew liked predictability, treasuring the security that could be found in living a life uninterrupted and well-structured.

But two years ago, predictability had punched him in the gut. And he had retreated into the walls of his office and home, allowing only his daughter and mother access to his inner-workings, licking deep wounds in private solitude. Such confines had brought comfort, the need to venture out into a world suddenly overwhelming virtually non-existent.

Until she had crashed into his consciousness and made him take notice. Mary Gillingham—the disruptor of his peace.

A knock on the door drew their attention. Belle dashed towards the summons, greeting her grandmother at the entrance and taking the older woman's hand with the eagerness of a five year old.

"Hello, mother," Matthew stated, moving forward to kiss her cheek. "Don't you look lovely this evening?"

Isobel studied her son's appearance with eyes that missed nothing, breathing in a scent quite unfamiliar as she drew back from him.

"You look rather dashing yourself, I must say," she returned, keeping her face steady and voice even. "Quite handsome for an evening of tossing rings about."

"Oh, you know," he answered off-handedly. "Putting one's best foot forward for a good cause."

"Of course, dear," she replied with a smile, her interest in meeting Anna Gillingham's mother increasing by the second. "Is everything all set?"

"Yes," he explained. "Mary and Anna will meet us at the school gymnasium entrance at 6:00 pm sharp. We need to get a move on if we're not going to be late."

"Well," Isobel stated with a smile, "We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Had he just imagined the flicker of intrigue in her eyes, the slight twitch of her brow that had always served to alert him when she was noticing too much? Perhaps tonight had already become more complicated than he had anticipated.

What in God's name was he thinking? If he had any sense, he would back away from this ridiculous infatuation before unruly emotions ran away with him.

But at the moment, he wasn't feeling particularly sensible. How very unlike him.

He grinned slightly in spite of himself. Mary Gillingham struck him as a complicated woman, the type he had always avoided—the type he was certain would find him lacking.

Yet here he stood, palms damp, throat dry, anxious to get to the very woman who quite likely rarely gave him a second thought. Why would she—a creature so magnificent? A lady so polished and refined?

"Can we go now, daddy?"

His daughter's inquiry drew him back to his surroundings, and he took her hand in his, touching her nose gently.

"Of course," Matthew added, avoiding his mother's overtly curious gaze, "Being tardy is the last thing we would want, especially at a school function. Now then-shall we get going?"

* * *

Of all nights for her hair to be difficult.

The straightening iron seemed to be having little effect upon the one stubborn strand as she fought to coerce it to lay in the right direction. A grunt of frustration escaped her as dark locks continued their mockery, pushing her to throw the blasted contraption down on the sink in defeat. How she wanted to look perfect tonight, was hoping to make a bit of an impression on a man who had taken her by surprise.

A certain blue-eyed man who had awakened flutterings she had feared forever dormant. A man whose easy smile and disarming personality prompted her to actually stop for a manicure this afternoon, an indulgence she had not allowed herself since notice of Tony's death had arrived upon her doorstep.

Tony.

A sigh borne of weariness and guilt heaved from her lungs yet again, and she shut her eyes in an attempt to block the onslaught of blame that inevitably accompanied thoughts of her deceased husband. He had been a good man, a kind man, a man who had convinced her to marry him in the aftermath of bone crushing loss.

And a man she had never loved as a wife should love her husband.

What would Matthew Crawley think of her if he knew such details? Of her callousness towards a husband who had given so much? Her stomach hollowed at the very thought, and she envisioned his brow creasing in disappointment. How difficult such detachment towards a spouse would be to conceive for a man had obviously adored his wife, cradling her memory in a tender reverence that shone through in marked clarity whenever he but spoke her name. She had been a lucky woman, this Lavinia Crawley, at least during the time that had been afforded to her.

If she had only been a better wife to Tony…the wife he had deserved rather than the wife he had received. Just what type of woman was she?

She shook her head, attempting to scatter regrets that were piling up quickly. She picked up the straightening iron in one final attempt to improve her appearance, knowing that nothing she accomplished cosmetically would erase the marks of censure etched harshly across her soul. Lashes applied by her own hand still stung, daunting reminders of the many shortcomings that continually plagued her.

Was she actually capable of loving again? Did she even want to take that risk?

Perhaps this entire evening was nothing more than an elaborate set-up for failure. After all, she had never been one of the lucky ones when it came to matters of the heart. It might be best to keep lofty expectations from getting carried away, to retreat back into formality and function rather than stepping into the unknown, no matter how enticing it might be.

Believing in the impossible had nearly destroyed her once. She still bore scars that stung.

Yet an existence of smoke and mirrors, of forced smiles and fake interest had left her cold these past many months. And her daughter deserved a better mother than one always putting on an act.

Her daughter…her Anna. The one thing in this life she had done right. The only light in a life of gray hues and sullen skies. Yet at times, even the child's innocent presence brought pain, the gleam in her eye or crook of her grin a weighty reminder of a father cruelly taken.

Anna's father, now forever lost, yet ever-present in shadow and memory. Anna's father, the man from whom she feared she would never be free, no matter how many seasons passed nor years that crawled by. She peeked down the hallway, finding her daughter sitting quietly by the television brushing her favorite doll's hair, waiting patiently for her mother to finish getting ready. Her heart pinched painfully as she toyed with the rings she still wore as a penance, a symbol of Tony's goodness…

A cold reminder of her failings. Exactly whom did she think she could fool?

She studied herself closely in the mirror, eyes appropriately lined, lips just the right shade…

How ridiculous she felt.

Here she stood, a grown woman, an undeserving widow at that, fretting over every detail of her appearance for a man with whom she had spoken on a handful of occasions. A man far better than she could ever hope to be. They had chatted about trivial matters, had laughed over commonalities as single parents, and had even tossed about food preferences. But it wasn't as if he had asked her out on a date, and not as if she had accepted. This evening was dedicated to working at her daughter's school, manning a booth to boost a fund-raising campaign for updated playground equipment. This night was not about her, not about him, not about…

Them?

She shook her head at her own sensibilities. Relationships were simply not destined to work out well for her. Would her stubbornness never allow her to accept this fact? Why should she allow herself to hope when clearly she had no reason to do so?

Besides—blue eyes had never attracted her. Fair hair had never held her fascination. And Matthew Crawley had loved deeply, only confirming her suspicions that she would eventually do nothing but disappoint him when he uncovered details hidden by design. How could she compete with a wife so treasured?

She—who was so fractured in all the wrong places?

Yet somehow, regardless of the silent speeches she recited to herself, tonight mattered. She wasn't certain why, and stood in fearful hesitance to explore the reasons. It was just there, a feeling, an instinct, the hope that something good might finally happen after years of just getting by.

"Please, God," she whispered, berating herself instantly for even entertaining the notion that God would hold any interest in helping her.

After all, she knew better.

Didn't she?

* * *

_**A not**__**e to readers of "Things Hidden"** **who do not visit me on tumblr:** That story has by no means been forgotten or dropped. Due to personal matters (my dad having __surgery; a death in the family) and the time constraints of being a mother and musician during the Holiday Season, I made the decision several weeks ago to conclude "In the Company of Strangers" and then pick back up with TH. These two sagas are my biggest undertakings and claimers of my time. (This segment or an installment of "Breakfast in Bed" takes me 1-2 days to write. A chapter of Strangers or TH takes a week or more.) Strangers lacks 2-3 chapters, whereas TH continues to expand, so I thought it wisest for my own sanity and that of my family to conclude the first before moving forward with the second. As soon as Strangers reaches the final chapter in the next few weeks, TH will become my top priority. I do hope you understand my reasoning and stay with Matthew, Mary, Christopher and me. That story has become very close to my heart, and I want to do it justice. It is not an easy tale to write, but I do think it is worth the time. (I honestly agonize over every word and phrase of that saga.) Thanks so much to those of you who have taken the time to send a message my way about it. It means so much that it has become a favorite to many of you, truly, and I shall not leave you in suspense for much longer. I would predict it's return in January. _

**_The Downton Charity Drive: _**_ This ____charity drive was organized to assist the victims of Typhoon Haiyan. Donations were made to worthwhile organizations assisting in the relief effort (World Vision, The Red Cross, Doctors Without Borders and several others) and are being appreciated by art or writings sent via request to certain authors/artists who volunteered their time and talents for this effort. What an honor to take part in such an activity!_

**_____Have a most wonderful Thanksgiving, my American readers. And to all of you-a most delightful weekend!_**

**______****___P.S.: I would very much love your thoughts on this cha____pter, too! : D_**


	3. Chapter 3

_Many thanks to __**miscreant rose** and **Cls2011** for their untiring support and amazing friendship. You two never cease to both encourage me and make me laugh until my sides hurt!_

_Many thanks to all of you readers who have put your support behind this one-shot that will now probably run 20 chapters. (Or something like that. ;) These two characters have started stalking me everywhere I go, much akin to the manner in which Mary and Charles from In the Company of Strangers have been doing for months. So yes, this will be a multi-chaptered work. I hope you don't mind._

_Please note that the rating has been notched up to T. I felt is was a more appropriate rating for this chapter and always prefer to err on the side of caution. If it moves up to M in the future, I shall alert you. _

_This is dedicated to the generous donor to the DA Charity Drive for commissioning a glimpse into the Fall Festival. Now I shall leave you to it! _

* * *

Traffic was moving at an excruciating crawl.

Of course it would happen tonight, Matthew mused, blowing out a breath of frustration. He would be late for his appointed meeting time with Mary and Anna—he, a man who prided himself on punctuality. The fact that they had departed fifteen minutes earlier than necessary to ensure a prompt arrival now meant nothing as a nearby concert was attracting more people than he had realized resided in the entire city. A restless hand ran through his hair, and he bit back words inappropriate for his daughter's young ears.

"Calm down, Matthew," his mother offered, attempting to assuage his obviously frayed nerves. "We'll be there shortly."

"I know, mother," he returned, staring at the vehicles in front of him with an intensity he hoped would force them to accelerate. "But we'll be late. There is no way around that now."

"By no more than five minutes, dear," Isobel soothed, finally eyeing the school building in the distance. "I'm certain our companions will not begrudge us such a minimal wait."

Their companions—a woman who had snuck into forbidden corners of his mind without the smallest show protest on his part, and her daughter, so like his own in situation but vastly different in personality. He shook his head, afraid of uttering more lest he give away his true interest in Mary Gillingham.

He feared he already may have done so.

"I would hate to think of them standing outside in the cold," he stated, feeling the first measures of relief as he finally pulled into the parking lot. "Simply because of the fact that we are running behind."

She was unable to contain the slight grin that tugged on the corners of her mouth, careful to keep her eyes focused squarely ahead.

"There is a slight nip in the air this evening," Isobel began. "But I am quite certain that neither Mary nor her daughter will even come close to freezing in this October weather. Belle isn't wearing her heavy coat, and you're in a jacket."

There were times when he despised his mother's practicality.

"Even so, it's impolite to keep them waiting," he retorted, forced back into silence as he realized he had nothing more to say. Staring straight ahead and keeping his mouth shut seemed to be the only options left to him, and he shook his head yet again at feelings that were quickly becoming unruly. This infatuation with Mary Gillingham could spiral out of hand all too easily.

And spiraling into a woman was a sensation unknown to him.

He parked the car with as much efficiency as he could muster, sliding out with an undue haste to open the doors for both his mother and daughter.

"Slow down, daddy," Belle pleaded, panting as she attempted to keep up with his long stride.

He looked down, feeling wretched as he noted short legs practically sprinting to match his pace.

"Here, dear," Isobel jumped in. "Why don't you walk with me. That way your father can reach Anna and her mother a bit quicker and let them know we are here."

He shot his mother a look of gratitude and surrender, realizing she had already perceived the source of his anxiousness. Why had he even bothered trying to conceal such things from the likes of Isobel Crawley? Sometimes it was a bit like having Miss Marple for a mother.

Mary checked her watch yet again, certain she had the time right, wondering if he had been caught up in the traffic that seemed to plaguing several of the parents en route to tonight's festivities. She had feared running late herself as punctuality was not necessarily one of her strong suits, yet she lived close enough to the school that her travel time had not been very much extended by the heavier than expected flow.

She was certain he would not stand her up on purpose.

"When do you think they will get here, Mommy?"

She looked down at her daughter, the quirk of her small brow mirroring her own.

"Any time now, darling. They're only a few minutes late."

The girl nodded her head, her face scrunching as a matter of weight settled upon her.

"Do you think Belle's grandmother will let us have cotton candy?"

Mary knelt until she was eye-level with her daughter, nearly nose to nose as was their favored stance.

"If she doesn't, I'll buy you some before we leave. Do we have a deal?"

Anna twisted back and forth, shooting her mother a sideways smile that never failed to remind her of the girl's father.

"Yes. We have a deal."

Fingers couldn't help themselves, winding themselves into curls Anna insisted on having tonight, refusing to listen to her mother's reasoning that they would fall flat before the evening was over. Her hair was so like his—the same thick texture, the same ruddy brown color, the same stubborn cow-lick just beyond her part.

The same damned refusal to conform to guidance without a fight.

Her heart winced slightly in spite of herself. She shook it off, determined to enjoy this evening she had been anticipating for days.

"Of course, you must promise to share," Mary instructed, grinning at the girl's stance of protest. "You know how I love cotton candy."

"Why can't you buy your own?" Anna questioned, appalled at the very idea that she could lose a decent portion of her treat to her mother, the one person whose sweet-tooth rivaled her own.

"Buy your own what?"

His voice caught her off-guard, and she stood quickly, attempting to smooth her slacks as she shot him a nervous smile.

"Cotton candy," Mary replied, a bit overwhelmed by her nervous reaction to him. "Anna is not thrilled with the idea of having to share hers with me."

She attempted to steady knees responding too quickly. God, he looked handsome.

"I don't blame her," Matthew asserted, stepping in just close enough, unable to stop staring at this woman who made his breath catch. "Every girl should be allowed to have her own cotton candy."

The slight tilt of his head made her pulse skip a beat.

"Be careful of what you say," Mary returned, eyeing him from under her lids. "Anna and I can be quite the gluttons when it comes to sweets."

His mouth quirked upwards into that grin that did things to her, and she noted how he sometimes bit his bottom lip when he was considering an appropriate response.

"I suppose we must all have our areas of indulgence," he affirmed, shifting his stance slightly, wishing he could indulge himself with a fluff of her hair.

Where had that thought come from?

"And just what is yours, Matthew Crawley?' she tossed back, dark eyes sparkling in spite of themselves. "Your area of indulgence, that is?"

His mouth dried before he could formulate a thought, the images emerging in his mind much too private in nature to be verbalized in front of her daughter.

"Hello. You must be Mary."

He had never been more grateful for his mother's interruption, silently praying the flush crawling up his neck wouldn't give away the intimate nature of his musings.

"Yes," Mary returned, giving Isobel her full attention, offering as natural a smile as she could muster. "And you must be Mrs. Crawley."

"Please, call me Isobel," the older woman instructed, taking Mary's hand in her own for a brief squeeze. She then looked down to the girl beside her, half hiding behind her mother's leg. "And you must be Anna."

Dark curls bobbed in consent, a true smile emerging as Belle stepped forward and grabbed her companion's hand.

"Come on," the red-head insisted excitedly. "There's supposed to be a dunking booth and everything."

Anna's eyes widened in tandem with her mother's at the mention of such enticements, her grin releasing a dimple on one side of her face.

"It sounds like fun," Mary coaxed gently, watching her daughter emerge into the care of Belle's grandmother.

"So your shift lasts an hour?" Isobel questioned, receiving a quick nod in affirmation from her son. "Very good. We shall meet you at your booth at 7:30 sharp. Are you ready girls?"

Mary gave her daughter's shoulder an affectionate squeeze, making sure she was ready to break contact and strike out on her own with the Crawley women. She apparently was.

"We're ready," Belle answered for both of them, Anna nodding quietly in agreement. Isobel then took the hands of both her charges, leading them forward as they skipped alongside her.

"Don't forget the cotton candy," Matthew called out after them, earning himself a look over her shoulder from his mother and smiles of elation from both girls.

He was now alone with Mary Gillingham. The fact both thrilled and terrified him.

"You never confessed, you know," Mary stated as they turned to follow a certain trio into the building, pressing her lips together.

"To what?" he inquired, wondering just what perfume she was wearing. It bore the ability to drive him mad before the evening was over.

"To your weakness," she replied, tossing him a sideways grin. "Your favorite indulgence, remember?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, doubting he would get off the hook quite so easily a second time.

"Well, if you must know, I'm rather addicted to playing ring toss," he stated, catching the bemused expression she shot him. "I can't get enough of it, actually. You'll probably have to confine me to a corner in order to keep me from stealing turns from our patrons tonight."

"I'm glad you warned me," she teased, making him smile all the more. "Do you think I should tie you to a chair to keep you in line?"

He nearly choked on his own saliva.

"No. I don't think that will be necessary," he managed, unable to make eye contact with her as images he did not need caught up with him with lightning speed. "Not yet, anyway."

He heard her breath catch slightly, and turned to see her eyes widen as she just realized what she had implied.

"That's a relief," she whispered back, the blush splashing across her cheeks making her all the more attractive. "What would your mother think of such proceedings?"

He chuckled in spite of himself, rubbing a hand across the back of a neck feeling unusually warm.

"She's probably seen worse, to be honest," he returned, adoring the grin taking over her lips. "After all, she is a nurse. And I wouldn't press the issue with her—she just might encourage us."

Butterflies flitted across her rib cage.

"How very progressive," she quipped, enjoying herself more than she had in years. "But don't you think that the other parents might object?"

"Who knows? We might become the most popular booth of the evening," he grinned, watching her eyes flash appreciatively as he marveled at his own daring.

"We'd certainly attract our fair share of attention," she smirked as they reached their destination.

"I'm certain we would," he agreed, shaking his head at this turn in conversation. "But we might get kicked out for bad behavior."

"Tossed out of the Fall Festival," she mused, setting up the ticket box. "I'd never be able to show my face on the playground again."

"Now that would be a tragedy," he stated, the words out of his mouth before he could filter them.

She turned to stare at him directly, astonished at how such light-heated banter could suddenly pull on strings she feared had become rusty. The air had charged between them, both now completely oblivious to the fact that they stood in a gymnasium full of people.

It was almost too much.

"Yes," she replied, her face too warm for her own comfort. "It would be a tragedy. I would miss our conversations."

God, he wanted to kiss her. How was this possible?

"So would I."

The words pushed through the tightened confines of his throat, and he had to look away, knowing temptation would get the better of him if he continued to gaze into eyes that unsettled him.

"I guess we had better behave ourselves then," she offered, surprised at finding herself standing close enough to smell his cologne. The scent was beginning to make her feel slightly off-balance.

"At least until our shift is over," he returned, the urge to touch her cheek warring with every strand of reason he had still functioning.

"And then what?" she dared, unable to stop this mad frolic that had descended upon them out of nowhere.

"Then let the games begin," he teased, enjoying her blush, wondering if a turn in the dunking booth would be a necessity to cool himself off before this night was over.

* * *

_Thoughts, anyone?_


	4. Chapter 4

_Can I tell you how much fun I am having in this modern AU? And I am so very thankful that so many of you are joining me here. Your feedback, support and reviews just make me smile all over. And to think this tale spun out of a prompt meant to be a one-shot. To the anonymous prompter from tumblr who set my feet upon this path, I dedicate this chapter to you. :D_

_Always, to Cls2001 and miscreantrose-my two partners in crime who read everything for me and support me in my good times and bad. Love you guys so much! And to Julian Fellowes, Michelle Dockery and Dan Stevens-thanks so much for breathing life into two characters that have come to mean so much to so many of us. I own nothing, but appreciate it all._

_And now on to Chapter 4: Their First Date!_

* * *

Damn!

The alarm made him jump, and he swore again under his breath, backing away as something vile sputtered in the skillet. He turned on the fan, waving a dishtowel manically in a useless attempt to salvage what was supposed to be Chicken Masala. The blackened remnants better resembled mutilated charcoal than they did an elegant home-cooked dinner. What in God's name had he been thinking?

This was a disaster. Nothing short of a total disaster.

The smoke alarm blared on, and he smacked it with a wooden spoon, beating it into submission until he cracked the outer surface. He laughed, biting his bottom lip as he breathed a prayer of thanks that Belle was not here witnessing him making an utter ass of himself. Lavinia had always managed to keep things calm around the house, her presence alone a leveling factor. But since she had been gone, his ability to remain at an even keel internally had continually been ebbing away.

And then he had met Mary Gillingham.

God—nothing about their relationship made any sense. She was so very different than his wife had been, so indescribably gorgeous, so infuriatingly mysterious, so…so…

So out of his league.

But they had enjoyed each other's company immensely at the Fall Festival last weekend, and he decided then and there to impress her, to show her a side of himself that perhaps she might truly admire. She had openly confessed to him that her late husband hadn't been able to boil water, and he had seen opportunity blazing a trail at his feet. He was more than a decent cook, and actually prided himself in his abilities in the kitchen. So he had pains-takingly crafted a menu designed to please a sophisticated palate, spoken directly with the manager of his favorite wine shop to choose just the perfect red, and had arranged with his mother for the girls to have a sleep-over at her house.

Yet here he stood, his new shirt now hopelessly splattered with grey goo after putting out the beginnings of a grease fire.

Great. Just great. Could anything else possibly go wrong tonight?

Just then the doorbell sounded. 6:00 p.m.? Hadn't they settled on 6:30?

He made his way to the door, an apology on his lips that got stuck half-way up his throat.

It wasn't Mary. Thank God.

"Belle?" he questioned, his astonishment clear. "What are you doing back here, my darling?"

"We left her suitcase," Isobel answered quickly, following her granddaughter through the door. "We didn't realize it until we had nearly reached my house. So we turned ourselves around immediately and drove back to fetch it."

"Oh, dear," Matthew stated, as he moved away from the entrance. "Well, I'm glad you realized it now rather than later."

"And don't worry," Isobel added, giving him a knowing smile. "I've already texted Mary to let her know what happened. She won't be dropping Anna off until Belle and I get back."

"Thank you, mother," he sighed. "It's so good of you to have both girls over for the evening."

"They're actually less trouble when they're together," Mrs. Crawley mused, smiling down at her granddaughter. "They keep each other well-entertained."

"I can imagine," he replied, hurrying back to the kitchen as a lid began to clatter, the unmistakable sound of something boiling over making him feel sick to his stomach.

His daughter scrunched her nose as she watched him scurry about.

"What's that smell, Daddy?"

He shrugged, fanning the smoke still wafting from the skillet.

"I had a little trouble with the sauce, it would seem," he confessed. "Among other things."

"Is that what you're cooking for Anna's mommy?" she questioned, her blue eyes widening as she stepped into the kitchen.

"Well, yes," he admitted sheepishly, staring hopelessly at the unpalatable mess before him.

"I don't think she's going to like it very much."

She rubbed her eyes and coughed in protest, retreating down the hallway to escape the smoke and steam. He shook his head, biting his lip to keep from saying something he didn't want his mother to hear.

Yes—the evening had just gotten worse.

"Shall I open a window dear?" Isobel asked, standing as far from the kitchen as she could manage.

"It's freezing out there," he stated, staring at her incredulously. "You know there's a possibility of snow later tonight."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that fact," Isobel affirmed, opening the window latch without his consent. "But if you're going to spend an evening with Mary in this house, the air must be breathable."

He threw the spoon down on the stove, raking fingers through his hair as he shook his head.

"This is a disaster."

What had he been thinking when he'd invited her over for dinner? It was their first official date, and he had hoped for far more than he realistically should have done. Well, at the rate things were going, he most certainly would make an impression, all right. He might just impress Mary out the front door.

"Have you considered taking her out for dinner?"

He shoulders sagged in defeat.

"I had really hoped for a night in," he murmured, not realizing the implication he had just tossed in his mother's direction.

"Well, that's certainly understandable," Isobel returned, fluffing the curtains uncomfortably. "Although the two of you haven't known each other that long yet, Matthew. Are you certain such a big step is wise this early on?"

He stared at her incredulously, understanding finally smacking him across the face.

"No, mother, I didn't mean that we—"

"It's none of my business," Isobel interrupted, moving away from the blast of cold air that attacked the room. "You and Mary are both adults and how you choose to proceed with this relationship of yours is your decision and nobody else's."

He dropped his head again, pinching the bridge of his nose, wishing he could just start the day over.

"But I would change that shirt, dear, whatever you decide to do," his mother continued, blissfully unaware of how badly he wanted her to shut up. "I'm afraid you may have ruined that one. And you won't make it past first base tonight if you smell like a barbeque gone awry."

He unbuttoned his collar, biting back something he might later regret when a squeal from Belle's bedroom grabbed his attention. He ran down the hallway, rounding the corner to her room breathlessly.

"What is it?" he asked, the tears streaming down her pink cheeks sounding internal alarm bells. "What's the matter, Belle?"

"It's Madeline," she sobbed, thrusting her favorite doll towards him in marked frustration. "I wanted us to wear our matching pajamas tonight, but her pants are ripped."

He sighed, the hammering of his pulse slowing as the absurdity of the situation struck him with force. The damaged doll-sized pajama bottoms were laid before him across her unclenched fist, her tears at something so small making him laugh.

"Anna is bringing her doll tonight, and they're going to match," Belle sobbed, trying to convey the seriousness of her dilemma. "Madeline and I have to match, too. Don't you see?"

"It's alright, my darling," he insisted, chuckling in spite of himself. "Ripped pajamas are nothing to get upset over."

"It's not funny, Daddy!" she insisted, wailing again as she pushed past him and raced down the hallway. He combed his fingers across his scalp, feeling completely inadequate for the task of raising a daughter alone.

"You have no idea, Belle," he muttered to himself, leaning against her dresser. "None whatsoever."

His mother's consoling voice could be heard from the family room, and he shook his head as his eyes rolled towards the ceiling. He pulled his shirt over his head and carried it to the clothes hamper in his bedroom, discarding it with force as he wondered why he was even bothering to clean it. His mother was probably right—it was more than likely ruined. His new shirt, their dinner, the evening itself—all completely ruined.

"Idiot," he whispered to himself, eyeing the soiled garment one last time.

"Matthew," Isobel called as if on cue, summoning his presence before he had time to locate a fresh shirt. "Would you please come here?"

He swore under his breath, walking shirtless to the front of the house only to find his mother and daughter huddled together on the couch.

"Can it not wait until I've put on a clean shirt?" he questioned, staring at the two of them impatiently.

"Oh, dear," Isobel remarked, taking in his appearance, "You probably should see to that immediately as Mary…"

He froze in place as the doorbell sounded.

"As Mary and Anna are here."

"Here?" he sputtered. "But I thought.."

Belle raced to the door and opened it before he had time to finish his sentence, and he stood there in mortification as Mary entered the room. She eyed his topless state with a surprised appreciation, swallowing with force as her eyes lit up.

"I'm sorry if we've caused any confusion," she observed, attempting to direct her gaze in Isobel's direction but failing miserably. "I thought it would be just as easy if Anna and I met up with you here."

"That's fine, dear," Isobel chirped, smiling at the other woman before casting a warning glare at her son. "No harm done."

He felt horribly exposed and actively fought down the urge to cross him arms over his chest.

"It would seem I'm overdressed," she mused quietly, setting down Anna's suitcase as she tried to stifle a grin. "Aren't you cold?"

The briskness of the air wafting through the open window finally hit him, and he dropped his head, running his fingers through his hair as he threw down whatever pride he had remaining.

"I was actually considering a swim," he retorted, unable to stifle a small smile of his own as her brow tweaked in his direction. "Would you care to join me?"

Their gazes locked, and his body reacted all too strongly to the faint blush that crept across her cheeks.

"I forgot to bring my bathing suit," she returned, flashing him a direct stare. "But as you seem to be improvising, I suppose I can, as well."

The charge between them was unmistakable, and he suddenly felt quite warm, despite the cold blast of hair upon in his naked skin.

"Don't mind us," Isobel cut in, taking both of her charges by their hands and hastily leading them to the door. "We'll just be going now. Don't forget your suitcases, girls."

Mary caught her breath audibly, turning in embarrassment back to the exiting trio, realizing just how obvious the two of them had just been.

"Good-bye, my sweet girl," she whispered to Anna, kneeling down to kiss her daughter on the cheek. "Be good for Mrs. Crawley."

"I will, Mamma," the girl promised, wrapping small arms around her mother's neck. "Have fun."

"I'm certain they will," Isobel observed, tossing her son a hasty glance over her shoulder as she practically pulled the girls out the front door. "Good-bye."

"Bye, Daddy!" Belle called from around the corner. "See you tomorrow."

The door slammed shut behind them, and they stared openly at each other, both of them at a momentary loss for words.

"If you'll excuse me," he attempted, motioning towards his bedroom. "I was just about to change."

"Don't bother on my account," she teased, taking off her coat and surveying the room around her. "I somehow think my reputation is already shot as far as your mother is concerned."

He grinned back at her in appreciation, taking a step in her direction.

"I'm afraid that's my fault," he explained sheepishly. "I told her how much I was looking forward to an evening in with you, and I think she got the wrong idea."

"So I just added fuel to the fire with my swimming comment, it would seem," she observed softly. "I'm afraid I wasn't expecting to be greeted by a half-naked man when I walked in the door."

"Well, you know," he continued, surprised by his own daring. "Anything to make an impression."

The slight slanting of her eyes as she quickly scanned his body nearly knocked him backwards.

"Well, you certainly did that," she returned, shivering as a shot of wind barreled through the room. "Would you mind horribly if I closed that? I'm freezing."

"Here, let me," he insisted, shutting the window with force before turning back to her with a shrug.

"I'm sorry about that. It would seem I burned our dinner past recognition."

"I somehow thought that might be the case," she confessed, smiling in earnest at the look of utter mortification that crossed his face. "The smell is rather strong."

"I should have stuck with meatloaf and potatoes, as Belle so wisely suggested," he admitted with a shrug. "But instead I ventured out of my league."

He looked at her directly, wanting to touch her so badly yet afraid of doing so in his half-clothed state.

"That can be dangerous, you know," she breathed, her eyes flickering to his mouth. "Trying something new. Doing the unexpected. Sometimes you can get burned."

A hint of vulnerability crossed her eyes, and he felt the sudden need to stroke her hair.

"I guess we'll never know unless we try," he ventured, standing just close enough to smell her perfume, wondering if he was half out of his mind. "Will we?'

God, she was so close, just there, right there. How was it she affected him so strongly after so short an acquaintance? He attempted to swallow down the sudden pastiness in his throat, wanting to move nearer, uncertain of how she might react if he did.

"No," she managed, leaning into him unconsciously, nearly making his knees buckle. "And it would be a shame to miss out."

He was burning up.

Her breath tickled his mouth as she licked her lips, and he leaned forward, one hand reaching up to cup her face, the other moving around her back just as…

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, making him jump.

"Damn," he whispered, receiving an appreciative laugh from this woman now just out of arms reach. "Hold on a minute."

He retrieved the offensive phone from his pants, glaring at the name "Mother" flashing across the screen.

"What is it?" he answered gruffly into the phone, Mary's eyes widening at his response. "Oh, well, yes. I can see why there might be a problem."

He nodded into the silent room, lost in the blackened pools of her eyes as he attempted to concentrate on what his mother was saying. It was nearly impossible.

"Alright then. See you soon. Good-bye, mother."

"That was mother," he explained, moving to set the phone down on the counter. "She and the girls are on their way back."

"Why?" she questioned, straightening her hair self-consciously. "What's happened?"

"Belle forgot her toothbrush," he answered with a shake of his head. "I'm afraid she can be rather forgetful at times."

Mary grinned at him, reaching forward to run a finger down the side of his cheek. He nearly exploded at the contact.

"Well, in that case, I would go and put a shirt on," she mused, her fingertip sliding dangerously close to his mouth. "There's no telling what your mother will think if she finds you in this same state when she returns."

His chuckle rumbled deep, and he moved into her, taking her hand into his and pulling her as close as he dared.

"I don't know," he murmured against her lips, his eyes suddenly smoky. "There's something rather exciting in letting her wonder what we've been up to."

Her breath came in shallow gasps that teased his cheek, the desire to kiss her fully pressing against nerve in his body.

"But we haven't been up to anything," she hummed, the depth of her tone resonating against his chest as her arms snaked slowly around his neck.

"Yet," he amended with a grin, completely mesmerized by this woman right in front of him. He then bridged what little distance remained between them, rubbing his lips tantalizingly across her own before kissing her with a ferocity that shook them both.

* * *

_To be continued... ;)_


	5. Chapter 5

_I am just blown away by the support this story has received. This thrills my heart as I so enjoy writing in this AU...these two make me smile, and after the week I have had, smiling was truly a gift. I do apologize for not answering reviews personally, for either Ch 4 of this story or Ch 32 of In the Company of Strangers. My week has truly been surreal (a family crisis that came out of nowhere), so much of my life was put on hold this week while we focused on the essentials. Thank God we are all well, safe and together...I feel very blessed. But I may be unable to answer reviews the way that I like to do as we are still living a bit in a whirlwind, so please know it is not because I don't appreciate them. Every message I receive touches me deeply, and I read them all. _

_To Cls2011 and miscreant rose, my partners in crime who see me through everything, I have no adequate words. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Love you guys more than you know._

_And now to Their First Date: Part 2!_

* * *

The shock of his mouth on hers was electric, the sensation of his tongue dancing against her own almost more than she could stand. Her toes curled under her feet as a shiver ran up her spine. God, this was glorious, better than she had imagined, and she pulled him closer, needing him so badly, terrified of wanting him so much.

Her fingers stroked the bare flesh of his neck, his back, intoxicated by the feel of more of him than she had bargained for tonight. Senses were awakening, those lulled into years of inaction now suddenly on full-alert.

"Mmmm," she hummed, as he drew back from her slowly, grinning at the rather dazed look on his face.

"God, Mary," he breathed, blinking in an attempt to refocus. "I—I…"

He broke off, his face coloring as his tossed her a boyish grin.

"I should go and get a shirt. Mother—"

"Will be here shortly," she finished for him, unable to pull her hands away from him just yet. "You're right. It would be the smart thing to do."

His lips touched down feather-like on her own, skimming the surface with marked control.

"I think it's a necessity," he managed, toying with a strand of her hair. "If I kiss you like that again while I'm only half-dressed, this date could get carried away before it has properly begun."

She made an appreciative noise as her arms slid slowly back to her side.

"Oh, I don't know," she murmured, biting her bottom lip as the tips of his ears turned red. "I think it's off to a rather splendid start."

"I'm glad," he agreed, loathe to leave her even for a moment. "Although I am sorry about dinner."

"We'll order in," she reasoned with a small shrug. "Surely there are places nearby that deliver."

His fingers gently caressed her cheekbone, and he offered her a crooked smile.

"Thank you," he muttered, closing his eyes as her hand found his.

"Go get dressed," she instructed softly, giving him a slight shove. "I'll hold down the fort until you get back."

She watched him make his way down the hall, tracing where his lips had just been with a finger as she made her way to the kitchen. God, she liked this man so much, his very presence setting off feelings she hadn't experienced since…

She drew a deep breath in an attempt to clear her head. This was neither the time nor the place to traverse that road again.

But her heart squeezed tightly, the similarities in how she and Matthew related to each other with how she had been with him just too marked to miss. It wasn't that Matthew reminded her of him—they were very different men. It was rather that spark they shared, the laughter, the ability to banter and flirt shamelessly in a way that made her feel alive in places she'd forgotten existed. How she had missed these things, the ferocity of her craving for them nearly matching her lungs' need for air. She hadn't truly realized how dead she had felt inside until…

"Is Greek ok?"

She spun on her heels quickly, catching her breath in surprise as Matthew rounded a corner.

"Sorry," she breathed, attempting to calm her racing pulse. "I'm afraid you startled me."

"It's alright," he mused, stepping closer to capture a lock of her hair. "I seemed to have rudely interrupted your chain of thought."

"Perhaps it needed interrupting," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor.

"Ah," he voiced, nodding his head in understanding. "Memories?"

The gentle inquiry touched her deeply, and she remembered brown eyes staring into her in such a manner as she looked back into pools of blue.

"Memories."

"They're a blessing and a curse, wouldn't you say?" he questioned, his observation constricting her throat.

"More than you know," she confessed softly, reaching out to touch his face, to grab onto what was standing before her rather than cascading into the abyss of her past.

"You loved him very much, didn't you?"

His assumption was clear, and her heart constricted as she fed him both a lie and the truth in one dose.

"Yes. So much that it hurt."

He dropped his hands to her arms, his expression begging for an honest answer.

"Listen, if I moved too fast earlier, please allow me to apologize," he stammered. "I honestly hadn't planned on kissing you so early on this evening."

"So you were planning on kissing me?" she teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Well," he murmured, his grin getting away from him. "I had hoped things might progress in that direction. But I didn't mean to push you before you were ready. If you want me to slow down, just say so."

She laid a finger on top of his lips, shaking her head at his misunderstanding.

"That's not it at all," she explained, needing him to understand. "Besides, I thought I was the one who kissed you."

His hooded gaze made it suddenly difficult to breathe.

"Well, it seems we remember things differently," he pondered in mock severity. "That will never do."

"And just how do you propose that we settle this matter?" she questioned, arching a brow in his direction.

"That we repeat the experiment," he suggested, the smell of his after-shave tickling her senses. "After dinner, that is. When mother and the girls are safely back at her house."

"That's an idea," she stated, feeling a marked warmth slide up her neck. "I'm game if you are."

"Oh, I'm game," he stated, laughing softly as her stomach growled on cue. "But perhaps some food would be a good idea first."

"It can't hurt," she admitted with a slight shrug. "Apparently I'm starving. And Greek sounds lovely."

"Good," he grinned, the sweetness of his expression making her want to crawl into his skin. "There's a great little place nearby that delivers. Anything in particular you like?"

"Surprise me," she challenged, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear as he moved to his phone. "I like everything. But I hate olives."

"Wait," he stated, looking back in confusion. "How can you hate olives but claim to love Greek food?"

"Easily," she answered. "Olives are disgusting. Make sure you order my food without them."

"Olives are delightful," he argued, shaking his head at this new discovery. "And don't worry. I'll steal them from your dish so quickly you'll never know the difference."

"I'll know," she asserted as he picked up the phone. "Trust me."

His chuckle spread something warm all over her insides, something she had given up ever finding again years ago.

"Why does that not surprise me?"

An insistent knock directed their attention to the door, and he moved to answer it without missing a step.

"Is this what you were missing?" he asked, staring into three sets of rounded eyes as he brandished a toothbrush with Zorro-like charisma from behind his back.

None of them spoke a word.

"Well?" he questioned, raising his eyebrows in Belle's direction.

"Actually," she began, twisting her hands behind her back, "I wanted the purple one. The one with sparkles."

He stared at his daughter as if she had sprouted a third ear.

"What?"

The girl sighed audibly, rolling her eyes at her father's appalling lack of perception.

"You heard her," Mary chimed in, keeping a straight face with deliberation. "The purple one with sparkles. Belle obviously has her preferences. All women of taste do, you know."

He dropped his head before turning it in her direction, giving her a look that promised retribution as soon as they were alone.

"All high-maintenance women of taste, it would seem," he retorted, casting her an obvious challenge.

"Watch it Crawley," she threw back. "You are after my olives this evening, remember?"

He chuckled quietly and turned back the trio at the door, only to see his mother staring at him with her mouth hanging open.

"We're ordering Greek food, Mother," he muttered, lowering his voice intently.

"So that's what you're calling it," Isobel retorted, her stare too marked to ignore. "At least you have a shirt on."

"You do look warmer, Daddy," Belle chimed in, Anna nodding her dark head in agreement.

"I'm feeling warmer by the second, as well, darling," he replied, tossing his own blatant glare at his mother.

"Well, Matthew," Isobel continued, clearly unfazed. "Are you going to fetch your daughter's toothbrush or aren't you? You two may be burning up in there, but it's rather cold on our end of things."

His shoulders dropped, and he stepped back to let them in just before another cut him off.

"Here you go," Mary replied, reaching around him to lay the desired object in Belle's eager hand. "Is that the right one?"

"Yes," the girl answered with a gleeful bounce. "Thank you, Mrs. Gillingham."

"You welcome, dear" Mary returned, giving her a smile as she gently squeezed her shoulder. "Now are you sure that you have everything you need? Pajamas? Your doll? Warm slippers?"

"Yes," the child insisted with a nod. "I have everything else."

"Alright then," Mary stated. "I think it's time for one more round of hugs, and then the sleepover can finally commence."

Matthew cleared his throat loudly as Isobel's eyebrows disappeared into her scalp.

The girls quickly hugged their parents, receiving kisses on the head along with a subtle nudge out the door as they followed Isobel's hasty charge back down to the car.

"So does she think I'm a complete seductress, now?" Mary dared, sitting delicately on the back of the couch. "Or simply an over-eager tart latching on to you for an evening?"

"Neither. I assure you," he voiced, his attempt at convincing her falling flat.

"Then why did she look at me as if I were about to break into the Dance of the Seven Veils at any moment?"

"It was the olive comment," Matthew sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets at the roll of her eyes.

"Thank God I refrained from commenting on the joys of stuffing grape leaves," she retorted, watching as his shoulders began to shake silently, his face reddening with inaudible laughter.

"Or my desire to sample your baba ganoush," he dared, rewarded by a bark of laughter tearing from her chest, both taken aback and thrilled by his boldness.

"Dipping into the hummus tonight is going to be quite an adventure, it would seem," she managed, her sides beginning to ache. "I hope the pita is up for it."

"God knows there's nothing worse than flimsy pita," he answered, his voice shaking as it finally broke into laughter. "Especially when you're really hungry."

Speech became impossible as their bodies shook in merriment, both attempting to calm themselves by digesting large drafts of air.

"Insubstantial pita can ruin the entire experience," she observed, exhaling audibly in attempt to regain control. "Everything else just falls flat after that."

He tossed her a marked look she felt everywhere.

"I suppose I should warn you that I may have difficulty keeping my hands off your baklava," he returned, the unsteadiness of his voice forcing her to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye as she giggled.

"As long as you don't mind me squeezing your falafel," she quipped, dissolving them into hopeless peals of laughter yet again. God, this felt glorious! When was the last time she had laughed this hard?

Breathless pants met on middle ground, eyes suddenly locking on to each other as hilarity gave way into a different type of intensity. Then the distance between them vanished before she realized he had moved, and his mouth was on hers, the ferocity of what was happening between them making her breasts tingle on contact. She latched on instinctively, holding him tightly, kissing him back open-mouthed in a heated climax of taut innuendo gone mad.

She clutched his hair, pressing in closer as tongues explored frantically, learning new ground in this connection neither of them could properly understand. What was this man doing to her? And why was she making it so easy for him?

"You did bring them, I hope," he finally breathed onto her lips, the ragged edge of his voice instigating a deep burn that both frightened and excited her.

She pulled back just far enough to look into blue eyes heavily dazed, attempting to fill her lungs enough to respond.

"What's that?" she inquired, still trying to process exactly what he had asked her through the sensual fog wafting within her brain.

"Those seven veils you mentioned," he answered, grinning like a fiend.

How could he manage to look so innocent yet wicked at the same time?

"I never leave home without them," she asserted, shivering as he leaned in a bit closer. "A girl never knows when they might come in handy."

"It's a good thing I wasn't aware of that when you threatened to tie me to the chair last weekend," he mused. "I had a difficult enough time concentrating on my job as it was. If I had been aware you were in possession of such lethal weapons, I might have inadvertently damaged the ring toss booth beyond repair."

She grinned back at him, a deep hum of appreciation slipping through her teeth as her spine shivered.

"I try to keep my Salome-like tendencies under wraps. They can all too quickly give the wrong impression." She then bit her bottom lip, suddenly quite self-conscious. "I'm not like this with most people, you understand."

His sideways smile quickly melted any nerves, as he gently toyed with a stubborn lock of her hair.

"I've never behaved this way with a woman in my life, Mary," he confessed, a sigh of relief escaping his chest. "I'm honestly not certain of what exactly has gotten into me."

"Not even with your wife?"

He inhaled audibly, looking to the ceiling as if searching for the right words.

"Lavinia and I were friends for a long time before we ever developed a romantic relationship," he answered, lifting one of her hands and holding it tenderly. "It just happened for us, somehow. One day I realized how beautiful she was and wondered why I had never asked her out on a date. I finally did, and we never looked back."

He paused a moment, looking at her to be certain she understood. "She was a very gentle person. Sweet-natured, very agreeable. I think I can count the number of arguments we had on one hand. We had a very happy marriage, one I shall always treasure."

"I understand," she offered, processing both the similarities and differences to her own marriage and allowing them to settle.

"But we never…" he began, stroking a thumb across her knuckles. "We never did _this_."

Her chest heated immediately.

"So I'm a bad influence now, am I?" she teased, quirking a brow purposefully.

"The worst," he grinned, casting his eyes down a split second before gazing at her intently. "Please don't stop."

God—she couldn't breathe again, her heart constricting as it expanded.

"I don't know if I can," she finally confessed, her eyes widening at her own admission. "I've only acted this way with one other person, you know."

She licked her lips self-consciously, her lashes flickering as vulnerability set in.

"I understand," he returned, the sincerity of his gaze making her drop her eyes. How she wished he actually did, the knowledge that she couldn't hide things from him for much longer if they were to keep this up taking root.

Her stomach rudely interrupted yet again, making both of them smile as he leaned back a bit further.

"I suppose I should place our order," he observed, unable to look away from her.

"That's probably wise," she agreed, suddenly quite famished. "I'm really looking forward to this dinner, you know."

He moved to pick up his phone, smiling back at her as he began to place the call.

"So am I," he affirmed, holding the receiver to his ear. "I don't think I'll ever be able to look at Greek food the same way again."

"Just hold on to your chick peas," she purred just after he began to place their order, tossing him a brow as he nearly spit into his phone.

* * *

_Penny for your thoughts?_


End file.
